It's not what happens to you, but how you react to it that matters. --Epictetus, 55 A.D.-135 A.D.
It took me way too long to grasp the one-size-fits-all wisdom of that short sentence. Years, in fact.
Who knows how or when I bought into the lie that "other things" determined the quality of my days and what kind of life I had, almost as if I were a twig floating on an unpredictable stream.
Did I know I thought that? Uh-uh.
I just knew that sometimes, I couldn't help the way I felt.
A cloudy day could "make" me blue. Sometimes my children "drove" me to be impatient and out-of-sorts. As for the usual daily routines of home and child-rearing that never stayed done, well, who wouldn't get tired of it?
Besides, didn't I once in awhile have the right to be snippy?
All along I loved the man I married more than ever. Our kids brimmed with health and energy. God blessed us and I knew it, thanked Him for it. I loved our life together, saw the worth of it.
Occasionally, however, that nasty little inner voice whispered, "There must be more to life than this."
Did it ever occur to me that I too often was loving myself more than my closest neighbors, my husband and children?
Answer: Hardly ever.
I don't remember how, but finally the obvious shouted at me:
The root cause wasn't my life. It was how I reacted to my life.
After that flash of truth I wanted to change
I realized that every day we moms--and dads--lay down tomorrow's memories. I wanted my children to smile when they remembered me.
So I started reading and learning and looking for good role models. I listened closely when someone talked about their childhood and noticed how some seemed to deliberately change the subject or look wistful and not say much.
Others described their growing-up years with a light in their eyes and a smile in their voice.
I listened--and learned. Change was slow, but it came.
I longed to leave a legacy like these parents
Listen to "Dale" talking about his childhood. "I guess I grew up poor, but we kids never knew it.
"Oh, sure, we knew Dad worked hard at the factory, and Mama worked nights at the nursing home. They stretched every dollar 'til it hollered, but they never talked poor. I never once heard either one complain that somebody else got all the breaks and it wasn't fair.
"They'd tell us some folks have more money, some have less, and that's life. If we wanted something and couldn't have it, they never allowed us to have a 'pity party.'
"I can still hear my mama's voice saying, 'You've got it all'
"Many a time they'd remind us we had healthy bodies and good minds, so we could be anything we wanted to be. Besides, we had enough to eat and our drafty old house was full of love.
"One of them, usually Dad, would look solemn and announce, 'The Bible says if we have food and clothes to wear we should be content. Remember?'
"Then he'd laugh and gather us all into a big hug. Often he put on a record and grabbed Mama. They'd hug and start dancing and we kids would hop around the room. First thing you know, it felt like a party.
"Now I look back and realize I grew up rich."
You and I can learn from them
Dale's parents accepted--and rejoiced in--the life they had. They didn't gloss over the hardships in their life, they simply refused to park there.
Instead, they focused on their blessings and thus, laid down memories that made their son smile, even years later.
Over time I came to understand that whatever my situation, I choose what I think about what happens to me. Every day, every situation has two sides. I decide whether I'll see it as not-so-bad, or not-so-good.
By the way, that long-ago philosopher, Epictetus, merely echoed what God inspired the writer of Proverbs to say in 23:7a (NKJV):
For as he thinks in his heart, so is he.
Take it from one who learned it's true, making this principle your own can change your life.
One caution: Be patient with yourself. To expect instant, lasting transformation is no more realistic than expecting instant, lasting weight-loss from diet pills.
Rather, it's an ongoing process because we'll be learning as long as we keep breathing.
And isn't that cause for celebration--every day of every year!
Warmly,
Lenore
